Songbird
by InfiniteMidnight
Summary: After another disappointing date, a tired John returns home to a surprise: Sherlock playing an original composition on his violin...and his voice. Johnlock.


It happened one night, late as usual, because they never stuck to a "normal" schedule. John had come back from yet another one of those horrible dates he made himself go on for reasons he wasn't even sure of anymore. The girl looked nice and pleasant, but after the first glass of wine she started going on and on about her plans for life and things that John didn't even ask about. She never shut up and when she did, she asked about what he liked, so he told her, but by that time she was already making eyes at a considerably younger man about three tables away sitting with an equally attractive woman. So by then John gave it up for bad luck and paid, leaving before she even bothered to notice he was gone. At least she wasn't like the last one; she never spoke at all unless spoken to, and it turns out she was a complete nutter anyway.

So here he was, Confirmed Bachelor John Watson, sitting on his chair, with nothing to do but read the newspaper from two days ago. But just as he'd resigned himself to a night of complete boredom and self-pity, he heard it.

Sherlock Holmes was singing.

His voice was smooth, a deep, rich sound that made all other singers John had heard sound like untrained children. But the thing that stood out the most is WHAT he was singing. He'd never actually heard of the song, and he had the sneaking suspicion that the reason he'd never heard it before was because it was an original composition. As in, Sherlock wrote it. He didn't think Sherlock composed lyrics as well as music. But there was a first time for everything.

"If the stars had power

And the world ran against its axis

If the universe had meaning

Would it matter?

If all the superheros

Were to spring into life

And the movies were just documentaries

Would it matter?

All the times you said you'd stay

And the times you ran away

If her heart were in it

Would you go?

If I could give you the stars in the sky

If I could write you a symphony

If I could muster up a heart to give you

You still wouldn't stay, would you?

If I could sing you something beautiful

If I told you I loved you

Would you even stay?

Would you stay?

John was amazed. The violin played a lilting, sad, and profoundly lonely melody beneath the lyrics. Though John had heard Sherlock play innumerable times, this time it seemed that the music was better than all the other songs he'd heard his flatmate play. The sound was coming from behind the half-open door of Sherlock's room. He knew that Sherlock must have heard him come in, so why was he playing this? It seemed...so intimate. So personal.

Before he even knew it, John was out of his chair and at Sherlock's door, peaking in through the crack in the doorway. The detective was swaying with the music, dressed in his usual nightgown over his pressed shirt and suit pants. His feet were bare, which made him seem even more vulnerable to John. Even though his back was to the door, John knew that Sherlock knew exactly where his flatmate was. But he kept on playing. And John kept standing mesmerized.

"If I gave you the sun

And the moon and the planets

If I memorized the names of the stars

Would it matter?

If I learned how to fly

And I saved this world

If I cared about them all

Would it matter?

All the times you said you'd stay

And the times you ran away

If your heart were in it

Would you go?

If I could give you the stars in the sky

If I could write you a symphony

If I could muster up a heart to give you

You still wouldn't stay, would you?

If I could sing you something beautiful

If I told you I loved you

Would you even stay?

John, will you stay?"

Sherlock turned to face him. The music finished on a lingering, heartbreaking note, then his arm dropped, the bow parting from the violin reluctantly. Sherlock's eyes met John's, cold to anyone else but John. John knew him now; he knew that this wasn't Sherlock, it was a mask he held in place to protect himself. Sherlock had put on his armor.

Meanwhile, John's face was vulnerable. He'd never stopped to think. Think what Sherlock felt. John couldn't say with all honesty that he loved Sherlock, not yet, but he felt something far deeper than friendship for the man who'd become the center of his universe. All those dates were just an escape, a hopeful attempt that someone would distract John enough that he'd not have to acknowledge the strange muddle of feelings he felt for this wonderful man.

The man he thought, until now, didn't even know what love was.

"Will you stay?"

John thought.

And thought.

And smiled.

"Yes, I think I will."

Sherlock smiled as well.


End file.
